The Unknown Daughter
by Snotra
Summary: Alex, a sixteen year old girl, is visited by our favorite magical adults, and her life is changed forever. A secret about her will play a huge role in the final battle. This is my 1st story, so please bear with me. Constructive criticism appreciated!
1. The Beginning

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of J.K. Rowling's characters and/or plot.

Full Summary: Alex, a sixteen year old girl (this all starts in December of their sixth year in Hogwarts), is torn from her life when she finds out she is not who she thought she was.

This does not work with HBP, and I've taken some poetic liscence, you could say, with some characters.

* * *

The air stung. I noted my tingling cheeks in a distracted manner, my eyes tearing from the wind as they strained to see the expected figure. Where was he? The fire searing through my brain did little to help my condition as I slowly lifted my arms to wrap them around my waist. Damn vulnerability. I felt so alone, standing in the middle of an empty parking lot since 12:30 in the morning, being soaked in the huge snowstorm. I had been able to ignore most of my discomfort by concentrating on the fact that he would arrive at any moment. But as I checked my watch again (how many times have I done that now? A hundred?) I realized the hopelessness of the situation. It was now 2:45 a.m. The bastard stood me up. I shook my head. What was I to do? Ever since yesterday, my world had fallen apart. _They_ had come and ruined, then erased, my life. They took _everything_. Even if it was for the best, I had never felt so lonely. So now I had nothing, no home, no family…nothing. And the man that had _promised_ to help was nowhere to be seen.

//Flashback//

_"Mom? Dad?" I called out as I stepped into my home. It was 5:30; I had just gotten out of rehearsal, and was surprised to find the house empty. Shrugging, I closed the door and dumped my bag on the nearest chair, heading over to the living room for some good 'ole vegging. But instead of an empty room I found the place occupied by five strangers. 'Shit! Robbers!' I thought, trying to figure out what to do. Well one was really, really old, so no problem there…another was a tall woman who looked to be in her early fifties…again, not too hard. But then there was the creepy guy with longish black hair and even darker eyes, and a rather gentle looking man (mid thirties?) with sandy hair. Both seemed to be very fit. And-'what the hell? Does that guy have a fake eye? Holy crap! It's MOVING!' By now they had noticed my presence and we all stared at each other for a moment as I discreetly (or so I hoped) fished for my cell phone in my pockets._

_"You know," I said loudly, "The police station is right around the corner. No way you'll escape if you stay here any longer." They all looked puzzled. "Seriously," I continued, "They will hear me scream and be here in ten seconds!" The robbers all shared a look of incomprehension. Well, all but the creepy one. He was sneering. _

_"She thinks we are breaking into her home to steal," he said, in a deep, melodic voice. _

_"Think? Hah! Now get out or I swear I'll scream so loud—"_

_"Silencio!" the man interrupted as he wove a stick in my direction. I opened my mouth, sucked in air, and— nothing. No scream. 'What the?' _

_"Ms. Tracy," the old man began, "I assure you that we mean you no harm. Quite the opposite, really. We are here to keep you and your family safe." I struggled to speak, glaring at the dark haired man. "Ah, yes. Severus, if you would…?" The man Severus muttered to himself before clearly saying,_

_"Finite Incantum," with another swish of his polished stick. _

_"Save us from **what** exactly?" I asked the old man, backing away. These people were crazy. For the first time I noticed that they were all wearing robes. 'Oh no! They must be part of some kind of cult!' That would explain why they were carrying sticks, which I could only assume they thought were wands. _

_"Ms. Tracy, my name is Albus Dumbledore. This is Minerva McGonagal, Remus Lupin, Auror Moody, and Severus Snape," he said calmly, pointing to each adult in turn. "And I am here to tell you that magic is real…"_

_Half an hour, and countless demonstrations, later, I found myself sitting on a chair with my head in my hands. Not only had I been informed of magic, but they had also told me about a murderous dark wizard named Voldemort (the others, for some reason, cringed when Dumbledore said the name) who was campaigning against Muggles, which was apparently a name for non-wizard people. And I just so happened to, for some reason, be in grave danger of said sadistic wizard. _

_"Okay," I said slowly, "so how are you going to keep us safe?" Dumbledore let out a sigh. _

_"We must bring you to a safe house." I nodded, _

_"Alright. So…do you think **you**__ could explain this to my family?" I asked, "Because I don't think that they'll believe me." At this, McGonagal stepped forward._

_"No, dear," she said gently, laying a hand on my shoulder, "only you are coming. Your family will be safe when you are gone. That is…when you are **completely** gone." The room was silent. _

_"What," my voice was hoarse, so I awkwardly cleared it before starting again. "What do you mean **completely**?" Dumbledore lowered his head slightly and looked me straight in the eyes. _

_"You were adopted. We are the ones, minus Mr. Lupin, who brought you to this family. Now we must erase their memories, and the memories of all who you know, of you in order to guarantee their safety. If we do not do so, they will be found, and most likely killed." He then pinched the bridge of his nose, and the other four adults looked at him with concerned glances. "I know how fast this all is, and how ridiculous it must sound to you, my dear, but you **must** do this. You will have this one night left with your family. I will meet you in the parking lot a block from here at 12:30 a.m., tonight. We will take care of your belongings." I couldn't reply. Yes, I believed him. I had seen him do things that were, by all means, impossible. But—_

_"But I look just like the rest of my family. There's no way I was adopted! They have a birth certificate and—" _

_"That was fabricated. By us," Dumbledore replied. "As for your looks, and who your true parents are…we must wait until we truly have time to sit down and tackle those questions. It will be soon, I promise." He looked at his companions and they all nodded. "Remember, Ms. Tracy. 12:30." He reached out and touched my shoulder. A gentle, sympathetic gesture that nearly made my break into hysterics. This was unreal, this couldn't be happening. I couldn't leave my family…but it was to keep them safe. Could I sacrifice everything? Could I live without them if it meant their lives? I looked into Dumbledore's clear, blue eyes, and nodded. His face seemed to age within seconds as his fingers applied comforting pressure._

_"I am sorry."_

//End Flashback//

I knelt on the ground and hugged my knees to try and keep warm.

"_Your core creates the most heat, your limbs go numb first," _I remember my brother, who was a medic, telling me. Tears pricked at my eyes. _'Don't think of them!'_ I shouted to myself in my mind. I took in a shaky breath, trying as hard as I could to stop the onslaught of emotion that threatened to overtake me. Oh, god, I missed them so much. It had only been a matter of hours, but knowing that I would never see them again was unbearably painful. I just wanted to see them one more time, tell them, remind them that—

"Ms. Tracy?" a gentle voice whispered behind me, causing me to jump. My hand rested on my racing heart as I looked up into a pair of tired, but wise, blue eyes.

"Dumbledore," I replied, just as quietly. He gave a small smile that lacked any real joy as he helped me to my feet.

"As you know," he spoke, "all of your belongings have been moved to our safe house. Your family and friends will be perfectly safe from all of this for the duration of their lives, of this I am positive." He squeezed my hand, and again I fought back tears. With a tired sigh he pulled out what looked to be a tattered snow hat. "I know this is sudden, but I promise to answer all of your questions tomorrow. Now, dear, I need you to take hold of this hat and close your eyes _very_ tightly." I opened my mouth to ask why the heck I had to do so when he cut me off. "Please, Ms. Tracy. I will answer all questions tomorrow, as I promised. But we must make haste." He held out the hat to me. "If you would?" I nodded and grabbed the less grimy looking flap and squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn't hold back my gasp as I felt a strange tug behind my navel…

* * *

I landed rather unceremoniously on the hard ground in a large, creepy room. It was dark and gloomy except for the crackling fireplace that was wedged in a corner.

"Dumbledore?" I called, almost cringing at how pathetic my voice sounded.

"I am right here, Ms. Tracy. Do you need help getting up?" I looked to my right and saw him standing there as if we hadn't just been spun around in dizzying circles to land in a completely different location. Gratefully, I took his hand, and was surprised by how easily he lifted my whole weight.

"Thank you," I said, still whispering. The place gave me the creeps. "Um…I know you said you'll answer questions tomorrow, but…where are we?" At this Dumbledore chuckled and began steering me towards one of the dusty black walls.

"Well, I suppose that I should rephrase what I said before. I did not take into account that we are in a new day, due to the early hour." He paused to tap a section of the wall with his wand. "We are currently in one of the un-cleaned areas of 12 Grimmauld place. I purposely made this our destination because I thought you might not be up to the large amount of introductions that would be necessary if we were to walk through the more common parts of the house." He gently pulled me, gaping, through the now revealed tunnel. I stared at the gothic looking torches attached to the walls, which Dumbledore ignited with a flick of his wand. "We are also no longer in America. We are in England." My eyes widened. So not only was I away from my family, I was away from my country. Though I had always wanted to go to England, I had imagined it under different circumstances.

"Eng-_England_?" I whispered, my tone slightly awed. His eyes seemed to twinkle in amusement.

"Yes, dear, England. Now, this house also happens to serve as headquarters for our Order, which I will explain further to you once you have rested." Abruptly, he turned to the right, facing a grimy stonewall. "Really must clean this," he muttered before tapping it, as he had done to the wall before. This time we entered a dimly lit, extravagant hallway. "Your room is the second on the right," he whispered, "and all your things have been moved there. I will send someone for you by eight tonight for dinner." I nodded, dazed. Though I had many questions to ask, I could no longer stifle the yawn I had been fighting. "Well, Ms. Tracy, I daresay you must be exhausted. It is now 3:15 in the morning. Get some rest." He led me to my door and I leaned tiredly at the threshold.

"Thank you," I said in a blurry voice, "from what you've told me, you've saved my family's lives. I'll never really be able to repay you. So…thank you." He smiled at me for the third time that night-'_or day, really_', yet it seemed to be the most genuine—and sad.

"Do not thank me just yet, Ms. Tracy. Good-night." Too tired to mull over his cryptic words, I just nodded and stumbled over to the bed.


	2. The Confrontation

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the original characters, just my little spin off plot (and Alex :-) ). I bow down to the almighty J.K. Rowling.

* * *

When my eyes opened, the first thing I noticed was how dark my room was. The walls were a dark gray, the carpet burgundy…wait. I didn't _have_ a carpet. I didn't have gray walls! My breathing became uneven as panic set in.

"Oh god, where am…" yesterday came back to my memory with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. "Oh, _fuck_." My head was pounding insistently, and I rubbed my temples in a vain attempt at stymieing the sound. After a few more minutes, I realized that the pounding was actually coming from the door.

"I'm coming!" I shouted frantically, practically falling off the bed as I ran to open the door. A girl who seemed to be about my age was standing in the doorway, looking decidedly uncomfortable while she played with her bushy brown hair.

"Sorry I took so long to answer," I apologized, "I hope you weren't waiting out here for too long." She shook her head emphatically. We stood there for a few awkward moments. "So…" I muttered, "can I help you?" her eyes were clouded with confusion for a second before she jumped.

"Oh! Yes, I mean…no," she started, shaking her head again. "What I mean to say is that the Headmaster told me this morning to come here to wake you at eight. Dinner is in about twenty minutes, and he said that you'd probably still be asleep." I gave her a blank look.

"Headmaster?" I asked.

"Right, you probably don't know about that. Dumbledore is the Headmaster at our school," she replied, seeming much more at ease. I nodded slightly, and we stood in silence for a few more moments. Then it dawned on me.

"Twenty minutes!? I only have twenty minutes?" I looked down at myself. I had been so tired the night before that I hadn't even bothered to take off my soaking clothes, which were now unpleasantly damp. My long hair was disheveled and slightly knotted, and I had a lingering moldy smell.

"Oh, God, I look like hell, don't I?" I asked the girl, smiling sheepishly. She let out a soft laugh and took a step back from the doorway.

"Well, I'm sure you have enough time to take a shower. I'll tell everyone you might be a bit late," she said with a comforting smile. I sighed, nodding.

"Thanks…uh…" I floundered, realizing I didn't know her name.

"Hermione," she provided, "Hermione Granger." I smiled,

"Thanks, Hermione," I said, "I guess I'll see you in twenty minutes." She nodded, and by the time I closed the door and headed back in my room I realized I had forgotten to introduce myself.

"Oh, well," I murmured to myself, "I'm sure I'll have plenty of uncomfortable introductions soon enough."

I stepped out of the shower five minutes later feeling much better. The bathroom was amazing! I went over to the ornate, mahogany, bureau and pulled open the first drawer. They really had gotten all my clothes. Quickly, I picked out a simple outfit of dark blue jeans and a tasteful, dark brown scoop neck shirt. Deciding to forgo using any hair supplies, I merely dragged my brush through the wet mass and twisted it up into a claw. Looking at my clock, _they really did bring everything_; I was pleased to see I actually had about seven minutes to spare. I looked in the mirror, debating whether or not I should use makeup. Shrugging, I opened one of my boxes and took out my brown eyeliner, applying it lightly. I then took my red chap stick and used it liberally, sighing happily at the medicated pain relief it gave to my chapped lips. Putting the things back in the box, I gently closed the lid. It was then that I noticed the picture I had put in the oval frame in the top of the wooden box. My family and I were standing on the beach in Cape Cod, visiting my aunt. I was about nine years old, and my thirteen-year-old twin brothers had their arms slung over my shoulders. My twelve year old sister was standing with her arms crossed, trying to maintain a scowl (though a smile was quite obviously pulling through) and my other brother, ten years old, was grinning while sitting crossed legged in front of us. Our parents stood behind us, their arms wrapped around each other's waists as they smiled joyfully. My throat constricted and I ripped open the lid, quickly pulling the picture out and holding it in my hands. I stroked the glossy paper lovingly, surprised when it was marred by a tear of mine that dripped off of my face. I hadn't even realized I had been crying. I put the picture on the bureau top gently, slowly pulling my fingers away to wipe at my wet face. Then, once I made sure it was nearly impossible to tell I had been crying, I slipped on my Birkenstocks and headed for the door.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I opened the door and walked into the hallway. Once outside, I realized I had absolutely no idea how to get to the dining room. I looked down each end of the hallway; to the left was a turn, and to the right was a set of stairs. Biting my lip, I made my way to the right and down the stairs. _Geez__, this place is creepy_, I thought, coming to another dimly lit floor. This hallway was identical to the one above, so much, in fact, that I experienced a moment of déjà vu. I sighed, _I've been doing that a lot lately_, and walked down the corridor. I had a deranged fear that I was going to get hopelessly lost in here and end up dying in this stranger's house. As I rounded the corner, my mind was working fast, trying to figure out what to do. I was so concentrated on how not to die in this creepy place that I didn't see the man that was also turning the corner. Eyes cast down on the floor, I ran straight into a firm body.

"Oof!" my arms wind milled for a horrible second before the man's hands steadied me. "Thanks," I said, my cheeks flaming with mortification, "and I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going." I looked up and was met with a familiar set of dark, angry eyes.

"That's quite obvious, Ms. Tracy," he growled, grabbing my elbow rather roughly and pulling me down the hall. I let out a small noise of indignation before yanking my elbow out of his grasp. He looked down on me for a moment, a sneer creeping onto his face.

"I assume that you have found yourself incapable of locating the dining room," he said in a low, dangerous voice. Everything about this man screamed dark and foreboding. I rubbed my elbow absently as I nodded. I didn't take well to being condescended to, but I decided that this was not the kind of man that would stand to be talked back to.

"No," I said in a quiet, but firm voice in return. I imagined that he was probably trying to scare me. I also didn't take well to intimidation. "I can't find the dining room. I wasn't really all that clear minded when I was brought here last night." His face remained impassive. I sighed inwardly.

"Could you possibly lead me there, sir?" I asked. I was taught by my parents to always be polite. I cringed slightly. _Don't think about them_, I reminded myself, _or at least not in front of other people_. He sneered again.

"I suppose so," he relented, turning his back to me. "Keep up. I won't slow down for you."

A few dozen twists and turns later, _I'll never find my way back to my room_, the man I remembered as Mr. Snape and I found ourselves standing in a room that was filled with fourteen people. And when we entered, everyone went silent. Feeling incredibly awkward, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and tried to smile. I hazarded a glance at Mr. Snape, and saw that his scowl had deepened considerably.

"Would you all kindly close your mouths and stop staring quite so ostentatiously at the girl?" he said loudly, stalking over to the long table and pulling out a chair. "I don't know about Ms. Tracy, but I find it a bit _uncomfortable_ to eat with a group of buffoons watching me." I fidgeted slightly while everyone looked between embarrassed and ashamed. At least most had averted their gaze from me and started to sit at the table. Not to mention people had actually started talking again. As I took a seat next to Mr. Snape (the man had helped me just a moment before, despite his overall abysmal attitude), I noticed that Dumbledore was absent. _Fuck, fuck, fuck! _I thought viciously, as I stared resolutely down at my plate. _The one person I want to talk to, and he's not here! _My hands were clenched in my lap. I had counted on him being here and answering my questions, which I had a lot of. Now that I saw he wasn't here, I just wanted to lock myself in my room. I didn't think it was too terrible of me to feel anti-social, considering my circumstances.

"Oh, do stop wallowing," Mr. Snape groused to me. "He'll be here to answer your questions soon enough." I looked up at him and nodded, straightening my posture and finally allowing my gaze to wander around the almost full table. I noticed that half the people had matching red hair and blue eyes. Wow, talk about family resemblance. Hermione was sitting across from me, and she gave me a small, slightly apologetic smile. I smiled back.

"My name is Alex, by the way," I said to her. "Alex Tracy."

"Dumbledore told us that already," the boy next to her said, his mouth already stuffed with food. I noticed he was one of the red heads. "And that you're a Yank." I nodded slightly, amused at how he could actually speak with all that food in his mouth.

"Yeah," I said quietly, aware that more than a few people were listening in on our conversation, "I'm from Vermont." They, and the dark haired boy on Hermione's other side, gave me blank looks. Well, I was used to that. "It's near New York," I said, raising my eyebrows. They all obviously knew that one. Hermione actually grinned,

"Oh, of course! The name is French, isn't it?" she asked, leaning in slightly. I smiled more genuinely this time.

"Yeah," I replied, "vert mont. It means green mountains. It was called that by Samuel D. Champlain, because…well, because we have a lot of green mountains." I brushed a stray stand of hair out of my face. "You should see it in the fall," I continued, "when the leaves are turning, it's gorgeous." My smile grew wistful. "I love Vermont." My eyes fell onto my plate again as I pushed the food around with my fork. It hurt not to know when I would be back.

"Well," Hermione said, "we don't really have much foliage in London, but Hogwarts' grounds are really beautiful." I looked up at her.

"_What_?" I asked, setting my fork down. "Did you just say _Hogwarts_?" The dark haired boy sent me a hateful look. _Whoa, what is his problem?_ I wondered. The other two didn't seem to notice, as the red head gestured enthusiastically.

"Yeah, Hogwarts!" he exclaimed, "don't tell me you don't know about Hogwarts?" I shook my head.

"What is it?" I asked.

"What is it!" he repeated, spraying food around. Hermione looked mildly disgusted and muttered,

"Really, Ron, _swallow_ before you speak." He ignored her and leaned across the table towards me, making Mr. Snape lean backward so as to avoid any food sprayage.

"Hogwarts is only the best bloody magic school there is!" he said, his voice joyful. A large woman with matching red hair, _must be his mom_, glared at him.

"Ronald Weasley, watch your language!" His face turned an intense shade of red.

"Sorry, mum," he murmured, sitting back in his seat, continuing in a lower voice. "We're on Christmas vacation right now. It's like a Muggle hoarding school or something, but for magic!" I swallowed the lump in my throat. Yes, I had accepted that magic was, indeed, real. But it was still a shock to hear people say the word so casually. And I assumed that when he said, "hoarding" that he meant "boarding". It seemed like Hermione was now trying to explain the difference to him. By now, everyone had finished eating. My plate was still full, but I found that I didn't have an appetite. There was a churning in my stomach, caused both by my nervousness at being around strangers, and the anticipation of Dumbledore's arrival.

Everyone was making their way into a spacious room, and I followed in the rear, right behind Mr. Snape. I almost laughed to myself when I realized I was practically clinging to the menacing man. But I couldn't help it, really. He was the only person I felt comfortable around, seeing how he didn't try to force any kind of conversation or put on any airs. Sure, he seemed like an asshole, but at least I didn't have to plaster on a fake smile for him. But when I entered what I assumed to be the living room, all thoughts of Mr. Snape left my mind. I almost gasped at the splendor. There were two large black couches, various upholstered chairs, a shag rug, a large fireplace, chessboard, mini bar, and small tables. This house was a mansion! And everyone was completely unfazed as they lounged around, talking comradely to each other. Though I could tell many of them were sending furtive glances my way. Some were curious, some suspicious, and one in particular was down right hateful. I looked straight into the guy's emerald eyes, determined not to back down from his fiery glare.

"Harry," Hermione hissed from his right side on the couch they were sitting on, "stop glaring at her! You're being ridiculous!" The boy Ron, on his other side, nodded.

"Really, mate," he said in what he must have thought was a quiet voice, "it's not her fault. Bloody hell, she doesn't even know!" Sick of the mystery, I walked right up to the three, standing directly in front of the dark haired one.

"Don't know what?" I asked. The boy's glare only deepened as he stood. I was five six, and he was towering over me. My eyes hardened.

"It's rude to listen in on other people's conversations," he growled, stepping into my personal space so that there was only about an inch between us. "Didn't your _father_ ever tell you that?" I was thrown. My heart constricted when he reminded of my dad, and I felt a huge swell of homesickness overcome me. And the way he had said father…like it was a swear word. What the hell did he mean?

"You don't even know who my father is," I said, my own voice low and angry. "So don't you dare presume to talk about him." He laughed, and the sound was harsh and bitter.

"Don't know him, huh?" he asked, crouching down so we were face to face. "Your bloody _dad_ has tried to kill me five years in a row!" I took a step back, my face incredulous.

"My dad lives in Vermont!" I shouted, forgetting that there were many other people in the room. "That's fucking _impossible_, you maniac!" He advanced on me; his face dark and twisted with rage.

"No," he said, his voice quivering, "you're dear old daddy lives right here in England." I shook my head, shoving his shoulders in an attempt to get away from him, but he backed me against a wall.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, running over to us, "stop it!" He didn't even look away from me.

"No!" he shouted, gripping my shoulders, "she should know what a murdering bastard her father is!" I glared up at him, fighting the urge to smash my knee between his legs.

"My father," I yelled, "Is the best person I've ever met! He's _never_ murdered, and he's _never_ met you in his life! So get your hands off me!" I pushed at his chest in vain. His grip on my shoulders was quickly becoming painful, and I noticed that some of the adults were walking over to us.

"You don't even know your own father," he spat, his face red. I gritted my teeth and smacked him hard. I heard gasps throughout the room.

"My father is William Tracy," I said slowly, enunciating every word, "And he hasn't done anything to you." The boy sneered.

"No," he said, his voice deathly calm and deep, "Your father is Voldemort, and he killed my parents."


	3. The Truth

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all Harry Potter. I own Unknown Daughter.

AN: This is a short chapter, but it's really just to give all the info on Alex's...uh, lineage I guess. What happened and such.

* * *

I was speechless. The boy Harry was panting, his fingers bruising into my shoulders as I slowly shook my head from side to side. Everyone in the room was silent.

"Look," I said slowly, "I don't know who told you that…but it's a lie. My dad is William Tracy." He snorted. "Seriously. Dumbledore told me about Voldemort," a few people shuddered, but I ignored them. "He said my family and I were in danger from him. I'm not _related_ to him!"

"Actually, Miss Tracy," Dumbledore's voice floated into the room, "you are." Harry snatched his hands from me as if I were on fire and backed away from me as he looked towards Dumbledore, who was now standing in middle of the room. The old man looked incredibly weary, but I couldn't stop now.

"What do you mean?" I asked, walking up to him. "What the hell is going on?" He sighed and took my hand, guiding me to sit on one of the couches.

"I was hoping to tell you more gently," he said, casting a disappointed glance in Harry's direction. "But Voldemort is your birth father." I shook my head again.

"No," I said, "no, that doesn't make any sense." Dumbledore looked at me with compassion.

"No!" I stood, my hands shaking. "I look just like my parents!" He rose next to me.

"Miss Tracy," he said gently, "we've had this conversation. Do you remember? I told you you were adopted when we first met." He waited in silence as the memory came back to me. I sank back down on the couch.

"But it doesn't make any sense," I repeated, my voice thick with emotion. "How can I look like my parents if they're _not _my parents?" Dumbledore took out his wand.

"Because we put an illusion charm on you," he replied softly. "Would you like me to take it off?" I nodded, and he swished his wand at me. He said nothing, but I felt as if a bucket of warm water had been poured on me. Glancing up, I noticed the people in the room were blatantly staring at me. I also noticed a large mirror on one of the walls. Silently I stood and walked to the mirror, afraid of what I would see. My usually dark brown hair was now black and smooth, falling in soft waves below my shoulders. My hazel eyes were an icy blue, and my fair skin was now completely pale and flawless. I was frightening. My face looked the same; the same full mouth and normal nose, same cheekbones and face shape. I looked down at the rest of my body and noticed that my jeans were now slightly short for me. I was taller now, about five nine I would guess. I was also thinner; as if being lean was a genetic trait I inherited from one of my birth parents. I placed my hands, _my fingers are longer_, on the mirror to stabilize myself as I stared into foreign eyes. The room was, again, utterly silent.

"Who is my birth mother?" I asked quietly, still staring into those ice blue eyes. _I want to see hazel…I should see hazel_. Dumbledore walked behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Her name was Mnemosyne McGonagall," he said, motioning towards Ms. McGonagall in the room. "She was Minerva's sister." I tore my gaze away from the mirror to look up at Dumbledore. _His eyes are gentle. His are like the sky. Mine are like icicles._

"Was?" I questioned. Dumbledore looked at Ms. McGonagall, and she stepped forward, lightly taking my hand into her own.

"Mnemosyne, my younger sister, was captured by Death Eaters in the first war when she was twenty seven," she looked deeply into my eyes, squeezing my hand, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"she took in a shuddering breath and broke our gaze. "He raped her," she whispered, "then dropped her on our doorstep, beaten and cursed within an inch of her life." I was shaking now. I didn't want to hear any more, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from this woman, _my aunt_. "He did it as a warning to our family, because we were working against him. Mnemosyne wouldn't speak. The only time she made any kind of noise was when my mother asked her if she wanted to get rid of the baby," McGonagall looked up at me again, this time with a faint, sad smile. "She screamed and started to attack my mother. She couldn't stand the thought. So nine months went by and she had you." Her grip on my hand grew tighter, but in a comforting way. "She adored you. You bore, _bear,_ a striking resemblance to him…or how he used to be…and we all thought that would make it harder for her to love you," she smiled again, "but it didn't. She called you her muse." My eyes filled with tears, as did McGonagall's, "we were almost positive that he didn't know of your existence, and we didn't dare find out what he would do if he discovered you. So we decided to give you to a family far away from the war to ensure your safety. Mnemosyne was crying so hard the night she put you in Albus' arms," at this point, McGonagall pulled me into an embrace, and I buried my head into the crook of her neck, my sobs muffled against her robe. "The day after she gave you for safe keeping, there was an attack in Diagon Alley," I didn't know what she was referring to, but it didn't matter, "she was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange." I was gasping now, trying hard to stop the flow of tears. McGonagall pulled away, only to smooth my now loose hair from my face. "You may have his looks," she murmured, "but you are _so _like your mother." Her eyes brimmed with tears again. "I haven't even been able to get to know you, but just the way you hold yourself, you remind me of her so much…"she brought a shaking hand to her mouth, trying to stop her own flood of tears. I bit my lip and waited a few moments to compose myself before speaking.

"Was Alex…the name she gave me?" McGonagall nodded, and gave me a large, watery smile.  
"She said she wasn't going to curse you with an odd name like our parents did to us," she chuckled, "so she named you Alex, for the city of Alexandria.

'Because she's beautiful, and she'll grow to be intelligent and loved,'

"She'd said. And she made sure we all knew your nickname was to be Alex, so you could have some normalcy in your life." I nodded, taking in deep breaths. I turned to Dumbledore, and almost started crying again at the warmth in his eyes.

"Did my parents know I wasn't theirs?" I asked, my voice still quivering with emotion. Dumbledore shook his head.

"No, but I'm sure they would have loved you just the same." I don't know why, but the way he said that made something twist in my stomach.

"You're never going to replace their memory of me, are you?" I murmured, already knowing the answer, "Not even after all this is over."

"No," he whispered, "it would be best if we did not." My eyes were aching from all the crying, so I just nodded dumbly and swayed slightly from fatigue. "Can someone…" I looked around blindly, my vision blurred, "Can someone show me to my room? I don't think I can find it on my own." Dumbledore walked towards me, but Minerva held up her hand,

"I'll take her Albus," she smiled affectionately at me, "after all, she is my niece."


End file.
